


Wanna See You Looking Up

by mardia



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Oral Sex, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8081491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: Lesley was drunk enough to look at Peter's smiling mouth, the shape of his hands as they moved through the air as he talked and think to herself, "Fuck yeah, I would," without immediately reminding herself of the dozen reasons why he was off limits.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So since we actually have a real release date for the next book, this means I'm madly scrambling to finish all my WIPs in the next month and a half. This was originally conceived as a Yuletide treat, languished in my gdocs folder, and finally got brushed off and finished. 
> 
> Thanks to hannza for a lightning-fast beta. Title comes from the song "Get On Your Knees" by Nicki Minaj. (No, I don't have any shame.)

When it happened, both Lesley and Peter were drunk. 

Peter was drunk enough that he was lounging back in the booth, his brilliant smile appearing more than ever, as he rambled about the geeky interests he only managed to somewhat hide when he was sober, and not at all when he was pissed. Lesley was drunk enough to look at Peter's smiling mouth, the shape of his hands as they moved through the air as he talked and think to herself, "Fuck yeah, I would," without immediately reminding herself of the dozen reasons why he was off limits.

Lesley was drunk, exactly drunk enough to forget all the reasons she shouldn't, and exactly drunk enough to start wondering what would happen if she came around the booth and climbed right into Peter's lap. 

The idea had its appeal, even if they were in a pub full of their fellow PCs, and Lesley was nowhere near drunk enough to risk her reputation and career prospects that way. Lesley already knew she'd never be drunk enough to go that far.

But pulling Peter someplace private, where she could put all these ideas into practice--yeah. Yeah, Lesley could do that tonight. 

Peter caught her watching him, but didn’t know why; he just gave her that bright smile of his, dimples peeking out. “You all right there, May?”

Lesley just scoffed. “Aren’t I always?” she drawled at him, knocking back the rest of her drink. Peter just smiled quietly to himself as he worked at his pint, and Lesley continued to look at him, watching until Peter looked at her again, half-laughing as he asked, “Come on, what is it? Something on my face?”

“I want to get out of here,” Lesley told him, abrupt. “Do you want to come with me, then?”

“What, now?” Peter asked. 

“Yes, now,” Lesley said, getting out of her seat. “Come on, let’s go. Chop chop, Grant.”

Laughing at her, Peter went to pay their tab, and was agreeably pliant as Lesley led him out of the crowded pub by the hand, the two of them making their way to the section house, arm in arm, Lesley leaning in against Peter, not caring about personal space, just delighting in how _warm_ he was in the cool October air, warm and solid. 

“Have you been working out?” Lesley asked, feeling Peter’s bicep, testing the muscle underneath Peter’s thin shirt. 

Peter looked down at her, eyebrow raised. “Why yes I have, thank you for noticing.”

“Glad to boost your ego,” Lesley replied. She started humming a song under her breath, distracted, and Peter stopped dead in the street, snickering. 

“What?” Lesley asked, and Peter, still laughing, asked, “So you’re still a fan of Lana del Rey, then?”

"I'm not a fan," Lesley protested, disgruntled. "I just like the production on some of her songs, is all."

"You have, like, every song of hers on your iPod," Peter said. "I've seen you drunkenly singing along to _Born To Die_."

Her face going hot, Lesley punched him in the shoulder. "You utter shit, you _swore_ you didn't remember anything from that night!"

"Yeah," Peter said, an unrepentant grin on his face, "--yeah, I totally lied about that."

Lesley hit him again and Peter just started laughing hard, saying through his giggles, "It's burned in my memory now, May--ow, ow, okay enough, white flag, white flag!" He grabbed her arms to keep her from hitting him, still laughing as he tugged her in closer--and before she could stop herself, or think twice, Lesley leaned in, leaned up, and kissed Peter on his smiling mouth. 

Peter went still, his mouth soft against Lesley’s, hesitating for just a moment before he kissed her back. But then he pulled away, his eyes wide as he asked, “Lesley, what--”

Lesley was careful not to let the nerves show on her face as she asked, “You in or not?”

Peter stared at her for a long moment before nodding. “I’m in.”

They kept their arms linked for the rest of the walk to the station house, and neither one of them said a word the whole trip there.

*

Despite her brave words, the bravado that got them here, Lesley was still stunned when, once they were inside his room, Peter took the initiative by shutting the door behind them, pushing her against it, and then kissing her hard before immediately going down to his knees. 

Breathless, Lesley stared down at him, and Peter asked, his hands resting at the zipper to her jeans, “All right?” He actually sounded nervous, like he thought there was any chance she’d say--

“Like I’m going to say no,” Lesley got out, her voice rough in her ears. She got a quick grin from Peter for that, and then his warm hands were working her jeans open, tugging them down her legs, peeling her plain white cotton pants down, and then his mouth was on her, and Lesley couldn’t think of anything else. 

Her head falling back against the door with a dull thunk, Lesley groaned out, “Oh Christ.” Her breathing only picked up as Peter licked her open, taking his time, and God, she’d seen the girls Peter dated when they were at Hendon, she’d always assumed in a vague way that he wouldn’t be bad in bed, but this was--this was _brilliant_ , his tongue moving just so against and around her clit, the way he was picking up on her reactions, her breathless instructions, and then he slid a finger into her wet cunt, and Lesley had to clap a hand over her mouth before she alerted all their neighbors as to what was happening.

“Like that, like that, don’t you _dare_ stop--”

Peter groaned at this, and he kept going, relentless, and Lesley looked down to realize that he had a hand down the front of his jeans, that he was getting off from this, from getting down on his knees and--

_I should have known how good you’d look like this _, Lesley thought, and kept the words locked in her throat. Instead she blurted out, “Peter, _fuck_ , I want--” But she had everything she wanted, he was giving it to her already, and it was that thought that finally had Lesley gripping his shoulders as she came against his mouth, her eyes squeezed shut as she clung to him for dear life. __

__Peter didn’t try to get up, just pressed his forehead against her thigh as he brought himself off. Lesley was still too out of it, too dazed and trembling to do anything herself; she just stroked the back of his neck as Peter shuddered and got himself off in front of her, a cut-off groan the only sign that he’d come._ _

__His skin was soft beneath her fingertips, and Lesley’s head was still spinning--from the booze and from the sex--which is why she offered, quietly, “I could stay the night.”_ _

__Peter lifted his head to look up at her at last. His mouth and chin were still wet, wet from her, and Lesley unthinkingly swiped her thumb along his lower lip. Peter’s eyes closed at her touch, and Lesley felt something in her stomach clench as she thought once again-- _you look so good like this._ “Okay,” Peter said, ducking his head. “Yeah, we could do that.”_ _

__*_ _

__Lesley was the first to wake up that morning, with a throbbing headache that promised to turn into agony should she move even an inch, crystal-clear memories of the night before, and Peter’s arm wrapped around her waist as he slept on._ _

__She remembered that too, how shy he’d been at first once they’d climbed in underneath the sheets, how she’d teased him out of it by saying, “So what--you’ll go down on me, but you’re not up for a little cuddling?”_ _

__He’d looked so abashed and pleased by that teasing, but his arm had slid around her without any further hesitation, and Lesley had let herself curl up close, and not think about the consequences._ _

__She was thinking about those consequences now. What would happen if anyone else caught her slipping out of Peter’s room this morning, what would happen if Peter woke up right now, with her here in the bed with him--what would he say? What would _she_ say?_ _

__Lesley wasn’t fooling herself--she’d wanted Peter last night, and she’d gotten him--but this wasn’t last night anymore. This was the morning after, and all the days after that, and what she needed was Peter as a partner, Peter as a _friend_ \--not Peter as a boyfriend for three months or however long it would last before everything fell apart. _ _

__Her stomach aching, Lesley held her breath as she slipped out from under Peter’s arm. Peter, sound sleeper that he was, didn’t stir as she got out of the bed, as she quickly yanked her trousers back, as she crept towards the door and slipped out of the room as slowly and quietly as she could._ _

__Peter came down to the kitchenette when Lesley was on her second cup of coffee. Lesley tightened her hands around her cup but managed to sound mostly normal as she said, “Morning, Peter.”_ _

__“Morning,” Peter said. His voice sounded like gravel, and was it just the hangover that meant he wasn’t really looking at her?_ _

___Come off it, Lesley,_ a voice whispered in her head. She knew damn well why he wasn’t looking at her, and it had nothing to do with a hangover and everything to do with how she’d done a runner in the morning. Peter didn’t say anything to her as he grabbed the bottle of paracetamol before filling a glass with water from the tap, and by the time he sat down next to her at the tiny table, Lesley was almost ready to open her mouth to say something, even if she had no idea what--_ _

__But then Peter said, after downing half his glass, “Listen. I’ve been thinking that we need to have you give Doctor Who another shot.”_ _

__Lesley stared at him. There was stubble on his face, and his eyes were a little red, but otherwise he looked exactly the same as ever, regular Peter. Her mate, the guy who she’d run through a fucking wall for, and who’d do the same for her--not that they’d ever talk about it._ _

__Not like they were ever going to talk about last night, and from the way he was meeting her gaze head-on, Peter knew the score now. He knew, and he was going with it._ _

__“Doctor Who?” Lesley repeated, holding her breath, and Peter nodded. Carefully, slowly, Lesley pointed out, “But I don’t like Doctor Who.”_ _

__“You haven’t tried to like Doctor Who,” Peter retorted. “Look, I’m not asking you to get into the retro stuff--just give the Ninth Doctor a shot, you’ll love Eccleston--”_ _

__“It’ll still have those silly Dalek robots,” Lesley protested, even as relief rose up inside of her, making her giddy. “I can’t take those things seriously, Peter.”_ _

__“You’re not supposed to take them seriously, it’s just _tradition_ \--” Peter insisted, and they were off to the races, Lesley arguing that it wasn’t a crime to not like one show, Peter swearing it was practically un-British or some such nonsense like that, and finally the debate was only settled once Lesley agreed to watch two episodes in return for Peter reading her Sophie Kinsella books. _ _

__“If I have to try out one of your hobbies, you’ve got to try mine,” Lesley insisted. “Fair is fair.”_ _

__“Deal,” Peter said, actually holding out his hand to shake on it, the unbelievable geek that he was._ _

__Lesley took his hand, smiling, and it wasn’t until she was holding his warm, firm hand in hers that she flashed back to the night before, to Peter’s hands on her thighs, his tongue on her clit--_ _

__From the look on his face, he was remembering it as well--but then he flashed her another one of his easy, brilliant smiles, and got up to his feet, letting go of her hand as he did. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get some actual coffee, rather than the swill we’ve got here, eh?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Lesley said, letting out a breath as she got up. “Let’s do that.”_ _

__*_ _

__So they moved on, and Lesley never wasted her time regretting any of it. Not that night, and not the morning after. There was no point in regretting any of it--she’d made her decisions, she’d seen it through to the other side, and she and Peter were still all right at the end of it all. Still partners, still best mates. You couldn’t ask for more than that, and Lesley didn’t._ _

__Peter never breathed a word of it himself, never acted as though he still thought about it--and so whatever he _did_ think about it, Lesley knew he’d come to the same conclusion she had, that one night of fun and great sex wasn’t worth messing up what they already had. _ _

__And if sometimes Lesley looked at Peter and felt that ache between her legs, if sometimes she remembered the weight of his hands on her inner thighs--well, she was smart enough to let that memory go, waiting patiently for the day when it would fade away entirely._ _


End file.
